


Wild Hearts

by RegalPixieDust



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, F/M, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:47:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25158748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RegalPixieDust/pseuds/RegalPixieDust
Summary: (Zombie Apocalypse AU) Regina Mills is a survivor with walls built up high, isolated and happy to be. When she meets Robin Locksley, a man who makes her question everything she ever thought she knew about second chances and life beyond the apocalypse, they uncover an unbelievable truth about how the outbreak really began. Slow burn. Rewritten. Outlaw Queen.
Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills & Robin Hood, Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Robin Hood
Comments: 12
Kudos: 18





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hi everyone! I have decided to make an attempt to rewrite and make Wild Hearts more concise before I continue with the planned plot. I've really enjoyed being able to do that and shape it into something I love to write again. I hope you are happy to go on this journey with me again. As always, reviews are welcome and appreciated.

Time stopped the moment the virus infiltrated the world, the very concept eradicated along with every shred of normality. . Nobody could have ever predicted it. No amount of planning or strategy could have prepared anyone for the chaos and horror that the virus brought with it.

Regina Mills would have given anything to know more in order to survive, especially in the beginning. Some little things like how to make spam taste like anything other than spam or how to salvage basic necessities. Then there are the more serious skills that to this very moment still make her shudder at the thought. Before this new life, she'd never even _held_ a weapon. Instead, she had to learn the difficult way just how powerfully destructive and, unfortunately, how necessary they are to get from one day to the next.

It's right out of the movies. Not like the romantic comedies that she loved to hate, but the gory, repugnant horror that she almost always avoided. Lifeless monsters with drooping, rotten flesh, a stench that would make anybody's eyes water, and an infection that spreads way too easily - one bite, one _scratch_ , and your life as you know and understand it is over.

Within hours, the virus consumes it's host, stripping away all the things that make you human. First, sight diminishes, then breathing slows, and for a few silent moments, Regina likes to believe there is peace, no matter how short-lived it is. The moment of peace is always rudely interrupted by sudden reanimation. The body moves again but not as before.

The person who once had control is gone. It's not a _person_ anymore. Once the virus wins, the body is nothing more than a sack of bones with a hunger for any living thing and not a care in the world about who or what it infects.

Regina has seen it far too many times, more than anyone should ever have to, whether it be a stranger, a friend or someone she once thought she would spend the rest of her life with.

After life is ripped away the only solution is to prevent any further infection. Allowing those things, those _zombies_ , to inhabit someone you love to do their dirty work simply isn't an option.

A bullet to the brain. It's the only way to effectively stop them. It's barbaric and arguably callous. She'd never wish it on anybody, not ever.

Regina has been travelling alone for what could possibly be months now. She kept track of the days at first, counted every sunrise and sunset like doing so might somehow lead her to some sort of solution to it all. Eventually, she realised how unimportant that ever growing number was and stopped caring.

Isolation is the only thing she depends on nowadays. It's her lifeline. To be isolated is to have control. She only relies on herself, runs no risk of being disappointed when others let her down and, perhaps most importantly, isolating ensures that she will never again have to feel the dreaded ache that comes with losing something.

Survival is her goal, day in and day out, and her first rule of many to ensure survival is to have as little baggage as possible. Keep to the essentials, the bare necessities - food, water and a weapon. Her second rule is to remember that there is risk in numbers and because of that, she is happy to have grown accustomed to travelling solo, cutting down any possibility of being spotted when out in the open.

Her third and most important rule is that she has to protect her own heart. She's lost too much, more than anyone should ever have to lose and the heartache that accompanies that loss isn't something she could handle again. She constructed an armour, a wall that she builds upon every single day. She needed to grow thorns in order to scare the rest of the world away. Those thorns are arguably her fiercest weapon and, to this day, no one has been able to weave their way through them carefully.


	2. Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Chapter one is officially rewritten and I'm so much happier with it. Again, thank you for working through this story again with me. I appreciate you all.

The clock on the bedside table had stopped exactly at 8:15, to the second. Regina has been staring at it for a while now as if it might spring to life again unexpectedly. She wonders if it stopped in the morning or the evening, an unimportant mystery that will never be solved.

She sighs deeply, realising how silly she is for wasting time with it, and sits up on the edge of a stranger's bed that she had claimed for the second night. She stretches through all the aches and pains of persistent walking while the sun streams brightly through the large window of the bedroom. The stretch of her arms above her head leads to a full body stretch that she stands up to achieve, groaning through her movements until she catches a look at a wide mirror on the wall and the stretch is abandoned.

Her reflection is disheartening. Regina can go days, probably weeks without catching a glimpse like this one, but when she does, her eyes always meet that of a complete stranger. This stranger has her physical features, of course: hazel eyes, a vertical scar on the right side of her upper lip, dark, braided hair… but she hasn't seen the woman she remembers for a long time.

The old Regina would have her hair beautifully curled and her face painted wonderfully, not barefaced with a long braid hanging over her right shoulder. The old Regina would scoff at the dirt stains and the small scratches all over her body, and the old Regina would certainly have never been seen in these beige clothes; apocalyptic chic was not a style she would have picked over fashionable business attire.

Her train of thought continues as she considers how the old Regina also wouldn't know how to start a vehicle without the keys or how to syphon gasoline through the shower hose at the bottom of her rucksack. She wouldn't know how to pry open a can of tinned peaches with nothing but a pair of scissors and whatever strength she has left. It's a bitter and cruel realisation sometimes, but she has accepted the fact that the woman she constantly compares herself to in the mirror would be dead.

In these moments, she tries to not let her messy hair and dirty appearance bother her. Instead, she takes a good hard look at the reflection and gets to know this new version of herself. She recalls the hungry nights, the days spent walking in a downpour, the pains all over her body, the deaths she has witnessed and the lengths she has had to go to in order to survive.

When she shakes her attention away from her reflection and the reality that has rudely smacked her in the face, she resumes her much needed stretch, swinging her arms high about her head, soothing her muscles in the most perfect way. She rolls her neck from side to side, her long braid swinging with her movements, and she's pressing on the balls of her feet to lean up onto her tiptoes inside her heavy boots.

The room is engulfed in peachy oranges and soft tones of pink provided by the slowly rising sun. Mornings like this never fail to remind her of the morning everything changed forever. How one minute she was having breakfast with her fiance, Daniel, and the next they were on the run. That morning, when all hell broke loose, was the scariest morning of her entire life, even now after everything she has been through since then.

She wouldn't be alive to experience this golden morning if it wasn't for Daniel. He taught her everything she uses now to survive. He made sure that she understood how drastic everything needed to be from that scary morning onward. He helped her realise that she had to stop wondering if zombies are conscious or aware and accept that everyone is dangerous and everything is an enemy, and he lived that way until the end of his life.

In the midst of the sunrise, she's startled by a shuffling noise from downstairs, the tentative opening and closing of a door. Regina is thrown into survival mode, stealthily walking to the bed and reaching for her combat knife wedged under the pillow. She creeps downstairs, expertly skipping over potential creaks in the floor that could give her presence away. Her knife is in one hand and the other ready for the gun holstered against her hip that she will only reach for if she absolutely needs to.

She pauses by the door at the bottom of the staircase and listens. Whoever it is is rummaging through cupboards. It's not the undead, she can tell by the fast movement and is even more sure when the rummaging stops completely after Regina stupidly puts her weight on a loose floorboard, allowing a creak to echo through the hallway. Her entire body freezes as she pulls her weight away immediately, chewing on the inside of her cheeks in an attempt not to scold herself out loud. The house is completely silent now, whoever is in here with her obviously holding their breath and movements too.

Regina continues to listen as she carefully manoeuvres towards the kitchen, confused when she is met with an unfamiliar sound, almost like the stretch of elastic. If it's a weapon, she has never heard one that has ever made that sound, so she hasn't a clue what might appear in her face at any second. She unholsters her gun, holding it tentatively. She won't shoot but she sure as hell would like the upper hand in case this mystery guest isn't friendly.

Against her better judgement, she hesitates for just a second and that hesitation immediately bites her in the ass.

She doesn't have time to notice his face, all she registers is the sudden emergence of his frame and something shooting directly towards her face. Luckily her reflexes are intact and fast. She throws her back against the closest wall with a gasp and barely dodges the impact. She's in shock, staring at the wall that was behind her towards the long stick protruding from the wooden decor.

"Apologies," his voice sounds from behind her, quietly but sincere and laced with an accent that piques her interest, though not enough to tear her gaze from the victimised wall.

She's breathing heavily at the close call, squinting her eyes a little as she realises, "Did you just fire an arrow at me?" Adrenaline is making her heart pound from within her ribcage, not sure if she should be angry or not that she was almost killed by a stick.

"I thought you were one of those things. I'm sorry," he apologises genuinely, quick to add a confident smirk and, "But you are lucky. I usually never miss."

She pushes away from the wall with the slightest scoff at his pompous attitude and moves away from him towards the killer stick, pulling it firmly from the wall, offering it back to him along with some advice. "Don't apologise for protecting yourself. I wouldn't."

He takes the arrow, gripping it tightly with his fingertips. "You wouldn't apologise for almost shooting me in the face?" he asks curiously, obviously intrigued by her state of mind.

Her eyes roll ever so slightly, but she reigns it in and focuses more on taking a good look at the stranger. Their eyes only meet for a split second until they are eying each other up and down, clearly checking for any wounds or scratches that would give them a reason to fear the other. Though, for the first time in a long time, Regina is actually curious to know more about the man in front of her. She can tell by the scars on his face and the artillery that he's wielding that he must have one hell of a story to tell, and there's something about his icy blue eyes. They are filled with a familiar pain and out of nowhere, she is desperate to compare notes and know someone who understands even a fraction of what she is feeling.

She shakes all that away like the solo professional that she is, pushing passed him into the kitchen to see supplies, _her_ supplies, stuffed into a backpack that isn't hers. "I spent hours looking for these," she bites, showing him the cans and water bottles he had stolen from the bags she had abandoned them in yesterday.

"Pardon my ignorance," he says, "But given the circumstances, I didn't think to assume that these belonged to anyone. Besides, why would you leave these out in the open so recklessly?"

He makes an excellent point and it infuriates her. Leaving the supplies she found yesterday lying around the house for anyone to take was downright stupid. She let exhaustion and laziness get the better of her as she all but crawled to bed last night, leaving her fully stocked rucksack in the kitchen like this. But in her defence, she hasn't seen a soul for days now - living or dead.

"Whatever, thief," she scoffs, putting everything back into his bag. She decides he can have them. Maybe it'll teach her to be more careful next time.

"I would prefer Robin. Robin Locksley, at your service," he says confidently, putting his large bow down on the kitchen table, about to offer a hand to shake when a startling crash echoes from the front of the house.

"One of yours?" she whispers, but he shakes his head, telling her quietly that he's alone.

She can hear broken glass crunching under shuffling footsteps and the rattled groans conjured from the decomposing lungs of the undead - she can identify that horrifically unique sound from a mile away.

Robin jumps into action, moving quietly down the hallway and she's slightly impressed. He has pulled a hidden gun from the back of his jeans. It's fancy, looks somewhat unnatural in his hands. It's something that a collector would keep in a glass case and almost certainly something he's never had to fire before.

She reaches for his bow from the table and sneaks up behind him slowly whispering, "Please put that thing away before you hurt yourself. Or me. Guns only make things worse."

"You had _your_ gun," he whispers back, angling his aim toward the floor, eyeing up the unholstered gun on her hip.

"You're going to want to use this," she says, giving him back his bow, clearly the weapon that he is more comfortable with, it's written all over his face. "Your sticks are quieter. Unless you would like to alert everything in a two mile radius that we're here?"

He's amused by her, smirking as he steps to the side and allows Regina to stand ahead of him. She glides around him, walking slowly and meticulously until she suddenly has to pull her weight off of another creaky floorboard. She jumps back against Robin, their bodies colliding and he grips onto her shoulder tightly to keep her from falling forward. Regina shrugs him away and steadies herself alone, continuing to tiptoe into the living area, careful, prepared and ready for anything. But when Regina carefully peers around the doorframe to get a look at the monster that interrupted them, she is puzzled to see nothing; the window is smashed, pieces of glass are scattered around the floor haphazardly, but no zombie.

"That's odd," Robin says as he notices the lack of visible danger and walks around Regina into the living room without a single care or attempt to assess any risk.

"What the hell are you doing?" She scowls, still tucked behind the wall, concealing herself from any lurking danger.

Robin begins to tell her that _it's nothing_ and goes even further to say that _it's safe_ before he is knocked to the ground like a sack of potatoes by the walking dead that weaselled its way behind a cabinet.

She doesn't act right away, angry at his recklessness, but when this thing and it's rotted arms begin to push Robin against the floor, the dead weight is too much for him to shove away. As it begins to bear its teeth hungrily close to him, Robin begs, "A little help here?"

"More like Robin Locksley, in need of _my_ service," she sasses under her breath, moving fast towards the commotion.

Regina grips the back of its horridly stained shirt, blood and whatever other gross gunk has hardened its way into the fabric. She pulls hard to release Robin from the weight keeping him down, gritting her teeth tightly as she puts every ounce of strength she has into it.

When Robin rolls away from the teeth ready to bite, hissing a string of relieved curses along the way, Regina loses her upper hand and is trapped in its grip, face to face with the zombie. She starts to hit it away violently, kicking and pulling away from it as much as she can when it lets go suddenly and she's falling over her own feet.

Allowing gravity to become her worst enemy, she crashes loudly and hard against the glass coffee table in the centre of the room, the entire thing shattering against her as she hits the ground. She can't pinpoint the pain, groaning deeply as the small slices the glass has made in her skin begin to bleed.

Regina acts quickly, tossing her knife from her belt across the floor to Robin, collapsing against the floor in pain when he picks it up swiftly and tackles the beast away from her. With her eyes tightly shut, she hears the moment that Robin puts an end to it, penetrating its skull violently with an indescribable pop. Her eyes open just in time to watch the now truly lifeless body drop to the floor, thudding against the hardwood floor and the countless shards of glass.

"They're getting smarter," Robin complains, breathing heavily before he notices her still sprawled on the floor. "You're injured," he says with concern, stepping closer with glass crunching all the way.

Robin offers his hand to lift her from the floor, and she wants to take it, even ignores her own rules and raises her hand as best as she can to take his, but it's forced back down as agony rips through her side. There are tears pooling in her eyes and she twists her body painfully for them both to notice the glimmer of the thick shard of glass sticking out from her hip.

"Fuck," she grits through her teeth before exhaling a shuddered pained breath. It's taking all she can to keep those threatening tears from falling. The pain is like nothing she has ever felt before, physically anyway. Regina lies back down carefully, breathing in and out and accepting the pain, appreciating the pain. After months of a repetitive routine, sometimes pain like this reminds her that she is, in fact, still alive. It gives her a sliver of something to latch onto, to motivate her to fight harder than she ever has before, but that appreciation lasts for ten seconds before it becomes unbearable.

"What can I do?" Robin asks, dropping his bow and her knife to his side foolishly.

It's one of her rules. Never relinquish your weapons for anything. But she can let it slide just this one time as she begs of him, "You have to pull it out."

"Aren't you supposed to leave it in?" he argues, genuinely concerned for her.

He's not wrong, any reality medical show or documentary explicitly says to never remove the blade from a stab wound, but all of that logic died with the doctors in the world. Luckily, Robin seems to make that realisation all on his own, dropping to his knees next to her, assessing her injury carefully.

"Damn," he whispers, carefully tracing the edge of the shard with his finger as he begins to doubt himself. "I'm not qualified to do this," he admits, "I could do it all wrong and kill you or the glass could break and make it worse. Or even if I do remove it, you could die from an infection."

"Robin," she winces. "I really don't have a lot of options right now. Please."

Those damn tears are falling now without her permission. It hurts. It's insufferable.

"Someone I'm travelling with, David. He's a vet, he'll know what to do," Robin suggests and Regina begins to lose what little patience she had to begin with.

"No, please. Just grab it and pull. I'd do it myself if I could," she whines. He's still reluctant and that remaining patience disappears completely, "Don't be a damn baby, Locksley. I'm the one who is impaled and I'm telling you to pull the fucking thing out."

The room falls silent as he inspects the intruding glass one more time, finally nodding and agreeing to do it, asking her to, "Wait here a moment."

He stands and leaves the room as she ponders what he could possibly mean, saying out loud, "As if I'm going for a run."

Robin returns with towels (that he managed to find clean ones is a straight up blessing), a large glass bottle of vodka and what looks like bandaging. He's proven himself to be somewhat prepared, she'll give him that. He settles back on the floor, looking at the gruesome, bloody mess that is her hip and tells her that this is probably going to hurt, as if it already didn't.

Robin grips the thick piece of glass with his hands tightly and even that slight shift is enough to make her feel light headed. "Where are you from?" he asks.

"No distraction. Just do it," she pleads, preparing herself with clenched teeth.

The shard is freed from the laceration and it feels like being ripped apart. Unadulterated, raw and debilitating pain is spreading everywhere and anywhere it can. She doesn't notice immediately, but Robin is delicately hushing her anguished cries while dousing the open wound with alcohol and pressing as much pressure as he can to prevent her blood from pouring out.

Regina calms herself eventually, her frantic intakes of breath slowing until it is laboured and shallow while Robin treats the wound. "You never told me your name," he mentions.

"I didn't," she responds, watching carefully as he applies gauze to the large, deep cut left on her side. "I don't do names."

While securing the bandage, he politely meets her gaze and asks, "Why not?"

"Names are the stepping stones that lead to getting attached to people," she admits, not really sure why she felt compelled to at all.

"That's extremely isolating, don't you think?" he offers sympathetically.

Robin surrenders their eye contact to concentrate on finishing up her bandaging, and she's glad he did. It makes it easier to admit, "The less we know about each other, the better. It makes it easier should one of us ever die." She's convinced he thinks she's joking, watching him as he chuckles at her comment, but somehow making eye contact again ensures him that she's not. "I don't share my life story with anyone, not anymore. Nor do I have any interest in wanting to hear yours."

"Fair enough," he says, disappointed and with the slightest of frowns, so much so that she nearly misses it. "You're all done," he tells her, standing up and gathering his bow from the floor. "But I really would feel better knowing that my friend David had a look at you."

She declines his offer, promising him harshly that she's fine on her own and that he should just leave to go back to his group.

"Okay then," Robin nods, walking to the doorway while she is still laying on the floor, slightly scared to try and get up. And he knows that, he must, there's no other reason for him to stop and turn back with such a smug smirk painted across his jaw.

Regina, with all of her might, tries to get herself up off the ground. She attempts it a number of times, changing her method each time, hoping that one of them will offer a painless ascent to her feet, and he has the nerve to just stand there and stare.

"You are an ass," she whines.

"Would you like some help?" he asks, not budging from his comfortable position perched against the doorframe. She admits defeat, huffing a breath and nodding. "Magic word?"

He can't be serious, she thinks to herself, treating her like a five year old, but she is desperate to get off this floor and sees no other way out than to give in to his childish demand. "Please," she bites through clenched teeth and a forced smile, responded to with a surprisingly charming chuckle.

Robin takes her hand, wraps an arm around her torso and carefully picks her up from the floor into a standing position. His hands hover on her body a little until she is firmly standing without his aid, then he helps pick the tiny pieces of broken glass from her clothes and from her hair.

"Look," Robin sighs, "I don't know why you feel the way you do about getting to know people. And it's none of my business."

"No, it's not," she agrees firmly.

" _But_ ," he continues over her interruption, "You and I both know that if that wound becomes infected and you get sick, you are already dead. And while your motto might be to isolate from those around you, mine is to offer a helping hand to anyone who needs it. You're hurt and I know someone who can help."

"You don't even know me. Why do you care?" Regina asks, stepping ever so slightly back once realising how physically close they were still.

"Because the day I stop caring is the day I might as well put a bullet through my own brain," he admits honestly. "If we stop caring about others, are we any better than the very monsters we run from every day?"

He stumps her by making such an intensely valid point, one that she doesn't have the capacity to argue with, and it irritates her. This is exactly why she avoids other people, why she sticks to her own company. Others come into her life and the next thing she knows she is doubting herself and stupidly considering offered medical care.

"You know I'm right," he says, adding to her bubbling frustration with him. "All I'm asking for is one night," he barters, "Spend one night with us, and if not for the good of my own conscience then for your own health. And if tomorrow you want to go back to your sad, isolated life, I won't say a single word about it."

Regina's gut is screaming no, but it's made silent over the excruciating pain throbbing from her side telling her that even she knows it will be worth getting it looked at by someone with any sort of medical knowledge.

"You will have your gun at all times," he adds, as if he's trying to sweeten the deal. "And if any one of us steps out of line you have my full permission to shoot us where we stand."

She hates to admit it, but he's reeled her in. She's smart and skilled with her weapons, if anyone tries anything with her, she won't hesitate, so she gives in to his offer.

"I have a rucksack upstairs and the bags in the kitchen," she tells him, surprised when he eagerly offers to go and get them immediately. "Second door on the left," she shouts after he heads for the stairs.

Robin runs around the house, collecting everything he can carry before helping her attach her rucksack to her back as comfortably as possible. He mutters that he wishes he could carry it all, but there's simply too much. It's fine with her, she understands and surprisingly isn't phased by the added weight to her back.

Once he situates himself with all the bags he has to hold, as well as his bow and quiver, Robin opens the front door and looks around carefully, declaring it all clear as he steps outside.

Regina shuffles towards the front door, the harsh reality of barely being able to walk hitting her firmly in the face. Every step she musters feels like being torn apart from the hip upward and unfortunately might need a bit more assistance than she anticipated.

"Aren't you supposed to be helping me?" she calls out to him, hating to feel so dependent on someone else, but he _did_ offer, and so far he's doing a terrible job. She's sure once she gets into a rhythm, all will be fine, but finding that rhythm is going to take a bit of walking with an arm to keep her upright.

Robin makes his way back, offering his arm to her with an apology and they start carefully making their way, following his lead towards the wooded area behind the small neighbourhood she'd been sleeping in.

It doesn't look too far away but it feels as if every step they take makes the trees seem further and further away. All this walking is killing her.

"Are you okay?" he asks, offering to have them stop for a while.

"I'm fine," she lies with the fakest, fastest smile she can muster - a skill she perfected long before the virus showed up. "How much longer?"

"We've still a mile or two, not long," he promises, and for the sake of her sanity, she hopes he isn't lying.

By the time they arrive at the edge of Robin's small camp, he is all but carrying her entire weight. Somewhere along the way, the gash on her hip began to bleed heavily, all the way through the gauze and her shirt until blood began practically pouring down her left leg.

Regina could swear she's beginning to hallucinate when she notices two young boys ahead of them, their faces washed with shock and concern when they realise that she and Robin are struggling to get closer. The smallest can't be any older than seven, with wild, curly brown hair. The other is much older, sure close to his teen years, with a book in his hands.

"Get David," Robin asks of them desperately, Regina growing more and more light headed with every second that passes. "Now, boys! Run."

Robin lowers her to the ground to lay on her back as best as she can. She's lying awkwardly with her rucksack between her and the ground. He sheds all of his bags quickly, dropping them without a care to the dirty floor and kneels beside her to help her unclip her own back from her body.

"I'm sorry," he exhales. "We have so many traps set up, there's no way I can lift you over them myself."

All of the movement is aggravating the damage even more and she's whimpering every time a throb of pain flashes throughout her body. It's too much, the open wound possibly made worse than before now by trekking all of those supplies through the woods.

Regina tries to tell him that it's fine, that he has no reason to apologise, but the words aren't coming out of her mouth. She's too weak to force out even one word. Next, her eyelids become heavy, falling closed and she's engulfed in darkness. Robin's voice is telling her to stay awake, to open her eyes, but she can't. The last thing she hears is another voice calling out to them and Robin's desperate pleas for help until she is unconscious and her life falls entirely into the hands of strangers.


	3. Beginnings

_Regina rolled over into Daniel's chest, letting a groan vibrate through his torso as she sleepily begs for, "Five more minutes."_

_The damn alarm was blaring, a loud panicked radio host muttering off about something before Daniel reached over to shut it off._

_They held each other tightly for those five more minutes, just like they always did. This was their time. Regina could skim her fingertips along the soft skin of his abdomen or she could listen to the muffled heartbeat through the thin material of his t-shirt. He always wore a shirt. And socks. He was practically an ice bucket through the night, even if she was there curled against him, he needed the extra layers to keep him safe from the shivers that would shake him awake._

_Their morning continued, as usual, that day. What started off as Daniel's separate shower became a shared one, and later in the kitchen, Daniel made the coffee while she scrambled the eggs. It was beautifully domestic and she loved it. Not just because she knew the very thought of it would rile up her mother to no end but because they built it all by themselves and nothing could touch it, not anymore._

_At least that's what she thought._

_Sirens sounded through their quiet suburb later that morning without any warning, the sheer sound of it alone startled her heart, forcing its pattern into a fast rhythm. She immediately caught Daniel's eyes and they waited for any other sign of what might have been happening._

" _Don't they sound those for severe weather?" Daniel asked, leaving his half-eaten breakfast on the dinner table._

_The way his fork clinked against the edge of his plate made her stomach lurch as a sense of fright made its way from her gut into her chest._

_Something didn't feel right._

_Regina stood with him at the kitchen window, noting that there wasn't a single cloud in the sky, only a bright blue blanket that would never dare merit a sirened warning._

" _Maybe it's a mistake?" Regina queried, hoping that the loud noises would cease._

_He took her hand and took her outside onto their front lawn, curiosity their guide. Their neighbours had the same idea, families had gathered on their lawn up their street. Many were covering their ears to shield from the loud noises, Regina included because the sirens were making her ears ring painfully._

_Her face scrunched up, hoping, yet again, that the loud noises would stop and suddenly Daniel gripped onto her shoulders tightly, pulling her backwards and telling her to, "Get inside."_

_His tone alone threw her off guard, turning to face a white sheet of terror. He was staring over her shoulder, urging her to look back to catch a glimpse of what had terrified him so._

_She tensed immediately at the sight, backing into him, the usual wave of comfort that comes from the warmth of his body not providing the same effect. As more and more people around them started to realise what was moving towards them, commotion picked up._

_Families starting racing back inside their homes, panicked questions began to fly around the yards and from every direction put chaos erupted around them. People yelled about things they heard on the news, about a viral outbreak, the undead coming back to life, all things that should have stolen Regina's attention but she couldn't take her eyes away from what was about to change life as she knew it._

_A little girl was limping through the middle of the road. She shouldn't have been there. She should have been on her way to school, laughing with her friends on the school bus and comparing lunch boxes. Instead, this small child was drenched in a deep dark red. Her hair on once side was completely matted to the side of her face, her skin pale and lifeless. She had her jaw clenched as she walked on a broken leg as if it were nothing, the bone pierced through the skin, directly in Regina's direction with no intention of stopping._

_Regina could have stared for days, but the screaming around her pulled her from her trance. While the little girl made her way up the street, other horrifying beings had been sneaking up around them from their backyards and all directions. They were surrounded by horrifically neutral faces, lifeless skin, cuts, bruises, blood and huge bites with no idea where to run._

_xxxxxxxx_

Regina wakes up hazy, her vision failing her momentarily and she tries to take in her surroundings. She's laying atop a thick sleeping bag with the forest floor all around her, situated underneath hanging green tarp. She looks down at her body, her blood-stained shirt pulled up and gathering just below her bra. The tightly wound bandaging around her abdomen is fresh and not as hastily thrown together as she remembers from before. Slightly confused, she attempts to sit up but only gets as far as to perch up on her elbows slightly.

The tarp to her left is slowly lifted, allowing the beaming sunlight to shine inside as a man she doesn't know towers.

Instinctually, she reaches for a weapon, turning a tad too quickly for her wound to handle and she yelps in pain.

"Whoa," the man calls out, kneeling quickly by her side. "Relax. You're safe."

Ignoring him, she fights through the pain and rolls away from him slightly, grasping around for anything that could protect her. He tells her that Robin brought her here, that she needed help and she allows her muscles to relax as things start to come back to her.

She remembers Robin. And the undead. And the table. And falling through it.

Rolling back, she looks up at the unfamiliar face, squinting to make out his features. He's tall and traditionally pretty, his features soft and kind considering the state of the world outside.

He's smiling kindly, almost relieved to see her awake. "You gave us a bit of a scare," he tells her before kneeling close to the ground. "Your wound is deep. You're lucky you didn't bleed to death on the way here. I stitched you up as best I could with the supplies I have."

From behind him, he reaches over for a candy bar and bottle of water, placing them carefully next to her before he shuffles his position to sit cross-legged by her side. "I'm David."

"Thank you," Regina croaks, the dryness of her lips and throat making it difficult to speak clearly. David uncaps the bottle at her side, helping her as she drinks thirstily from it. This time, she clearly offers her thanks.

"It was nothing," David says.

"It's better than I could have done," she counters. "You're a doctor?"

"A vet," David corrects. "But I'm the closest you'll get around these parts." He stands up and offers her a hand, "It's important that we get you moving slightly and used to what you are capable of right now."

She's still in pain but it's nowhere near as severe as before, it's more of an uncomfortable, dull ache when David pulls her up from the ground. He allows Regina the chance to catch her own balance and find what's comfortable for her.

"You good?" he asks, his arms hovering around her just in case. Regina nods and tries to take a few steps, and luckily they are easy enough to take. "Why don't we take a walk outside and see how you get on."

They walk around together, carefully and slowly until she isn't hurting as badly. He was right in suggesting that she get used to what her body can handle right now, there have been a few steps here and there that were a bit too much for her.

After rounding the camp once, Regina looks around and takes it all in.

There are three tarps hanging from branches, the sleeping bags underneath. There's an impressive campfire in the centre, rocks set up in a circle with a collection of wood in the centre - it's fresh and ready to light at nightfall. She notices the area is outlined with high wires and cans, one of the traps Robin mentioned before she passed out; it's smart, she thinks, a way to hear anything that wanders near their camp.

David makes himself comfortable on a log by the fire, asking her to join him if she can.

"I'd prefer to stand," she says as she begins to feel slightly awkward. She thought they'd bump into Robin on their walk around the camp. She may not trust Robin fully but she trusts him more than the person she met ten minutes ago.

"He went back to the neighbourhood for supplies," David explains. "Neither of us were expecting you to be awake again today if I'm being honest."

"Oh," she replies, crossing her arms as best as she can. "Well, I am."

"You're uncomfortable," he notices. "I don't blame you, I would be too if I woke up next to someone I didn't know, in fact, I'm almost certain I did a few times in college."

Her lips twitch into an unsuspecting smile, a laugh barely forming in the depths of her chest. It's the first time in a long time she's heard someone talk about the old world with such ease. "I'm sure you weren't the only one," she replies, surprisingly pleased enough to banter with him.

"Does our mystery woman have a sense of humour?" he teases and she allows a fuller laugh this time, telling him not to push it. "Okay, okay," he agrees, "But what's your deal? Where are you from?"

Regina tightens her lips and closes off that slight passage of normal conversation that had been opened for less than a minute.

"Don't worry, Robin told me all about your no name thing, and I can respect that," David utters off, "But I _did_ just save your life. And you're in my camp, so I think it's fair to say we deserve one tiny bit of information about you."

Regina can't put into words what it is about Robin and David, but they both have an ease about them, a sense of safety that is throwing her off-kilter. "You first," she bargains. "How many of you are there?"

"No," he refuses. " _You_ first and then I'll tell you how many are with us at the camp."

"Are you always this annoying?" she grumbles, now pacing carefully back and forth in front of him, testing her mobility.

"If you think I'm annoying, wait until Robin is back," he chuckles, but he stays firm with his question. "Come on, telling me where you are from isn't going to ruin your life."

"California," she says quickly, frustrated at him for pushing but oddly relieved at how easy it was. "Boston originally, but California."

David smiles, smugly proud it seems to weasel information out of her. She's not amused, narrowing her eyes his way. They had a deal.

"Four," he offers immediately, no hesitation. "Robin, me and two young ones, Roland and Henry." Regina looks around the camp, looking for the young faces he speaks of. "Robin took them with him."

"He took _children_ on a run?" she questions.

"They can handle themselves rather well given the circumstances," David explains. "And they were worried about you when I was trying to work on your wound. They needed a distraction."

"And the best distraction he could think of was one that put them in danger?"

David chuckles, a single breathy one. "I think the rule book went out the window when all this started, no?" Regina knows he's right, but she just can't wrap her head around how this group has survived with children. "And look at that," David points over her shoulder, "They get to live another day."

Robin is walking towards them in the distance, in between a small boy barely the height of his legs and another boy that has at least an inch or two on her.

Robin waves her way, the boys beside him seeming to perk up at seeing her up and walking around.

"You'll love them," David says, squeezing her shoulder as he heads out to help them carry whatever they've found.

"That's what I'm worried about," she whispers to herself, exhaling heavily as she dreads meeting anyone else that she may have to suffer to lose.


End file.
